


Cold, cold Heart

by ThymeSprite



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Past Lavellan/Solas, Post-Break Up, Solas Being Solas, Sweet Cullen Rutherford, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 13:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15535641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThymeSprite/pseuds/ThymeSprite
Summary: Cullen has to take a break from work. And good thing, too, because the Inquisitor really needs a friend.





	Cold, cold Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SmirkCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmirkCat/gifts).



> Do you know those stories that simply come to you? You sit there, minding your own business, and suddenly you hear the characters talk, see the scene play out in front of you?  
> This is one of those stories. I had to write it right away.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> (Oh, and I blame SmirkCat for losing my heart to Solas.)

Cullen glared at the guttering candle on his desk. Maker take it, he had not been able to follow the report in his hands for quite some lines, it was late, it was dark and he needed a break anyway. So he shuffled the reports together and grabbed the next best object to use as a paperweight - an empty bottle. Huh. - and stood up.

The chair creaked in protest, he distinctly felt his knees pop and barely stifled a groan. He had been at this for far too long. Shaking his head as if to clear it, but knowing that ultimately nothing would help with that, he made his way over to the door on his left.

Coldest mountain air greeted him, biting his cheeks, but he relished the sting. A deep breath of the cold, fresh air already helped a lot and Cullen contemplated going back to his reports, but then decided to take a walk. His legs would surely thank him, he thought with a chuckle. And his back, too.

Starting his usual round along the battlements, Cullen stepped out into the night, only to frown a second later. There, just a few meters away, stood someone. He thought to call out to them, yet hesitated when he saw their small shoulders shake. Whoever that was, they were crying.

Squinting in the dim light, it took him a moment to recognise the lone figure.

“Inquisitor?”, he called out to her, but she did not hear him. No wonder over the howling wind.

The same wind now tousled her already windswept hair, blonde and about as long as his own. For a moment, he allowed himself to just look at her unabashed, then he saw her shiver and realised two things. She was indeed crying and she was clad in nothing more than her shift, breeches and boots. No coat.

“Inquisitor!”, he repeated more loudly and hurried to her side, “You must be freezing out here!”

“Cullen…?”, she whispered, her voice almost taken away by the harsh winds. Her face had been striking the very first time he had laid eyes upon her, the delicate lines, the greenest eyes… Still, after all these months, her beauty struck him, but he was not yet accustomed to seeing her without the familiar green lines on her face.

She had come back yesterday, without them, not offering an explanation and keeping to herself, another unfamiliar occurrence. As were the tears on her face. He had seen her upset, enraged sometimes, but never… broken.

“Your lips are blue already.”, he whispered, shocked to his core to see her like this and wasted no time to remove his fur coat to bundle her up in it. Her small frame was almost engulfed as a whole.

“Come, you need to warm up.”, Cullen said and led her back to his tower. She did not answer, just followed meekly. That, more than anything, frightened him beyond belief.

Once inside, Cullen gently pushed her down onto his chair and quickly lit a few more candles. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. Still she sat there, staring into the Void, not uttering a single word. She could have been a statue but for the tears slowly falling from her face.

At a loss as to what to do, Cullen crouched down in front of her and saw in shock how pale she was. Just like she had been when he had found her in the ice and snow, after Haven. Without more thought, he tossed his gloves aside to warm her hands between his palms. He could not help but wince at how cold her skin was.

“Your hands are like ice.”, he breathed, concern and, yes, fear, twisting together in his gut, worse than the withdrawal from lyrium. And still she did not answer.

“What happened?”, he quietly enquired, taking care to slowly rub soothing and warming circles into her hands. Yet she stayed silent. This lovely, always smiling woman was crying and he had no idea how to help her. So he ventured for another, probably futile, question: “Inquisitor?”

She exhaled, a powerless snort of disgust before she finally spoke, her voice bitter: “Yes. That’s all I am.”

“I-Inquisitor?”, he asked, dumbfounded, then bit his tongue for that idiocy. Well, he had already made a fool of himself, so he blundered on: “What happened?”

At this she looked up at him, her eyes filled with yet unshed tears, her cheeks stained by those that had already fallen.

“Please, what happened?”, Cullen asked again and, without thought, wiped the wet paths on her skin away with his thumbs. Clumsy, calloused thumbs against softest skin.

She looked away, then took a deep breath and he knew the new steel in her shoulders, the mask slipping over her eyes. She was the Inquisitor now.

But her resolve broke when she looked at him and quietly sobbed: “Solas… left me.”

“W-What?”, was all the sputtered eloquence Cullen could muster. She winced at that, as did he, before he amended: “Forgive me, I should not have asked. I…”

“He gave no reason.”, she revealed in an almost silent whisper, “He… promised to tell me the truth, then told me that the vallaslin were slave markings and he removed them.”

That… answered one question he had, but not the one he cared about.

“I thought he meant a different truth and then just… settled for the vallaslin instead.”, she murmured, more to herself than to him. Her eyes closed, but he could still see the pain flickering through them.

“Why…?” …would he leave such a prize as you? was all Cullen could think, but he interrupted himself as she shivered and another tear made its way down her cheek.

“I don’t know.”, she whimpered, curling into a tight ball, “I don’t know.”

Helpless to do anything else, Cullen squeezed her hands in an attempt to comfort her. To no avail, of course, but he had tried. He was at a loss.

“What can I do?”, he asked therefore, hoping against hope that there might be something. Maybe Dorian or Varric had a remedy for a broken heart…

She glanced at him, her eyes watery and reddened, then quickly looked away. Once again her eyes met his, she even opened her mouth, but stopped short before a word left her lips, still blue.

“Please.”, Cullen beseeched her, “After everything you have done for me, you need only ask.”

Again she stole a glance at him, but then cast her eyes down before she spoke her request: “Could you… hold me?”

Her voice had been so quiet, Cullen thought her words a dream. Wishful thinking. But she shyly looked at him again through her lashes and asked: “Just for a moment? Please?”

He did not find the strength to reply, but instead gently tugged at her hands and without a word, opened his arms.

However, he was not prepared for her to all but throw herself into his embrace. Cullen instinctively caught her, even though his mind protested. He should not, it was not proper…

But the woman he had grown to love lay crying in his arms and his heart overruled his mind with ease. His arms closed around her, holding her tightly against his chest as she sobbed and cried her heart out in choked sobs, her whole body shaking with the force of her sorrow.

For a terrifying moment, Cullen thought himself failing her miserably, then he understood that she needed the time and safety to dry her tears. So he let her cry, merely combed his fingers through her short hair and gently rocked her to a melody from his childhood. He had thought the words of the lullaby forgotten, but they came back as if they had never been lost to him.

How long they sat there on the cold stone floor of his office, the strong, fearless Inquisitor crying in his arms and him comforting her as best he could, Cullen had no idea.

Slowly, her tears ebbed away, her sobs quieted and the iron clutch her hand had had on his clothing loosened until her small hands lay against his armour, resting there, like her head rested on his shoulder.

The silence, only broken by her quiet sniffling, was deafening, so Cullen needed to speak. He barely caught himself before addressing her as “Inquisitor” again.

“Yannara.”, he said instead and as he called her by her first name, she looked up into his eyes, hers still filled with unshed tears, “I don’t know why he did that. I wish I had an answer for you. But the truth is… I don’t understand it. Whatever others might see in you, you are first and foremost, a wonderful woman. Kind, caring, always helping others, even if you need help more than them. It’s just who you are. Ask anyone.”

She inclined her head, doubting his words, so he stressed: “I mean it. You are… so much more than just the Inquisitor. And if I live to be a hundred years, I will never understand…that.”

Why he had let you go, that was what he had actually wanted to say, but his reason caught up to his traitorous tongue just in time to save him. Seeking his salvation in a joke, he added with a lopsided smirk: “If you don’t believe me, just ask Varric. The dwarf might deny it, but he is composing an epos about you.”

This, finally, startled her into a watery laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Pleased with himself, Cullen slowly let her go… which instantly dampened his spirits considerably.

Hesitant, they both got to their feet and Yannara made to remove his coat from her shoulders, but Cullen stopped her with a hand on hers: “Keep it. I won’t need it until tomorrow and it will keep you warm.”

“Thank you.”, she whispered and turned around as if to leave, but then flinched as she faced the door. Of course, the quickest way to her quarters would take her through the rotunda. Past Solas.

“Do you want me to go with you?”, Cullen offered, “Or should we take another route to the main hall?”

Yannara looked into his eyes, utterly forlorn, as she murmured: “You would do that? For me?”

“Of course.”, was all he answered with a small smile, thinking much more. I would do anything for you.

First of all, he would probably punch Solas as soon as he saw him next.

But Cullen quickly dismissed the thought. It was not his place and despite her delicate frame and magical abilities, Yannara was more than capable of punching the elf herself, should she so desire. Yet at the moment, she only wanted to disappear, it seemed, for her gaze went back to the door, then to him, back and forth.

“Or…”, Cullen ventured, then quickly shut up before he could totally embarrass himself.

“Or what?”, Yannara timidly asked and he felt himself blush to the round tips of his ears before he awkwardly scratched his neck and cleared his throat just so that he managed to say, “You could… stay here.”

In the dim candlelight, he still saw her eyes widen at that, so he hastily added: “If you’d like…! We could also…”

“Is your bed big enough for two?”, she interrupted him, wide, innocent gaze boring into his very soul.

Was his bed…? Maker’s Breath!

“U-uhm…yes. I-I mean, I think so?”, Cullen stammered, fumbling, “W-Why?”

Why?! Sweet Andraste, he was a fool. But Yannara smiled, one of her kind, honest smiles, and replied: “I don’t want to venture out into the cold and seeing that you offered…”

Her words trailed off, whisked away by the still howling wind outside, yet he heard her whispered confession: “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Then come.”, Cullen invitingly gestured to the ladder up into his bedroom, of sorts, and climbed up after her, trying for the life of him not to look up at her.

Once on his upper floor, he shrugged self-consciously: “It’s not much, but you will always be welcome.”

Maker, he had to shut up. Now!

Hardly daring to look at her, Cullen found Yannara frowning and was sure she would chastise him, maybe turn him into a frog. Instead, she shook her head, pulling the fur tighter around her shoulders as she muttered: “There’s a hole in the roof. In the Commander’s roof. That won’t do.”

“I don’t mind…”, Cullen waved her concern away, but she stood fast, “This will be fixed first thing tomorrow.”

“As you wish.”, he deferred to her judgement and then smiled coyly, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”, she replied, hesitating but a heartbeat before sitting down on his bed, “For your hospitality.”

Maker’s Breath… Yannara on his bed, in his coat. It was a sight Cullen knew would haunt him in his dreams from now on. He cleared his throat and barely managed not to scratch his neck before he removed the armour from his body, which was awkward enough. He did not dare remove more.

When he turned around, he realised he need not have bothered; Yannara was already fast asleep.

Cullen could not help the happy, yet longing smile that instantly appeared on his lips as he saw her there, curled up under his covers like a cat.

With a sigh, he, too, went to bed, careful not to jostle her awake and worried his bulky, clumsy frame might make her uncomfortable. But she slept soundly and to his immense surprise, he was not nervous, but content as well, just lying next to her, hearing her breathe.

“Sleep well, love.”, he mumbled and for just this moment, allowed himself to touch her, to cradle her cheek in his palm and let his thumb trace her lips. He should not have done that, but he could not bring himself to regret it.

Cullen closed his eyes and as he slipped into his dreams, he allowed himself to hope.


End file.
